"I thought the windmill was broken," the old shepherd muttered to a farmer sitting next to him.

"Marshane and Lorene went up to try and fix it after the knights came, but I guess there wasn't enough wind to start the blade moving until it did. They're our life-savers!" the farmer exclaimed.

"TO MARSHANE AND LORENE! 'Cause we don't have to pound our ass away for days!" he shoved his glass of ale into the air and pointed at the proud youngsters and sent his praises.

"HOORAH!" cried the villagers surrounding the two men.

Chief Darcy cracked open a cask of ale he made last season and set a bonfire in the village center to celebrate the windmill turning again. The villagers only have to take turns unloading the bags into the millstone to ground the grains away. The wind was blowing nicely for hours already and it was too perfect to stop working just because the sun went down. At this rate, they could finish making the lord's flour much sooner than expected.

Ramford tore a handful off his bread and threw it to Colt sitting beside him. The bonfire kept them warm despite the chilly gusts of wind. Deborah was tending to her cauldron, turning a soup of various vegetables and diced mutton. Children huddled with their parents under the blanket, cupping a bowl of warm soup and hot sheep milk. The atmosphere was warm and nice, and everybody had fun. Even Tom relaxed and joined the party, bringing out his lute and played a couple songs.

Embers flew and flickered when he threw in new firewood into the pit. He was basking in the festive atmosphere when a group of children who refused to sleep while their parents were still working started to gather around him. They began to pester him.

"Ramford, tell us a story," one of the kids asked.

"I ran out of stories, kids. I told you everything," Ramford refused.

"No way! You never told us you've been to Stormfront!"

"Huh? Who told you that?" Ramford turned toward the kid who mentioned Stormfront.

"Daddy said so. You're a shepherd who goes around wherever grass grows."

"Is it true it always rain there?" another kid asked.

Ramford sighed. He remembered he did tell someone nonchalantly that he had been to Stormfront and forgot how hungry a villager could be for any tales outside their small world.

"Why would it always rain there?" the shepherd decided to entertain them.

"Because there is a monster that makes it rain and wrecks all ships trying to pass," they answered.

"Wow, I just heard about this," Ramford lied, pretending to be surprised. His tired pale skin and white facial hairs helped his attempt.

"Have you seen a sea beast, Ramford?" the kid asked.

"Never been to the sea, kids. No grass for sheep to feed on the shores."

"So you never meet a sea hunter either?"

"I don't think I have."

The kid who asked pouted her face, dissatisfied. More kids gathered around the old shepherd throwing questions, often times nonsensical. Ramford cleared his throat and sipped more of the ale.

"What if I tell you a story about the land?"

"Eastland? We know that already."

"You do?"

"Nanny always tells stories about the people who fled evil and found Eastland."

"My mommy too," one kid added. It was Deborah's daughter.

"Well, can you tell me how the story goes, Dania?"

"Bad people attacked the kingdom and they built thousands of ships to flee and fought monsters who chased them and sacrificed friends and families until they reached Eastland," she told confidently.

"That's... the gist of it, but you kids do know the story. I'm impressed," Ramford clapped.

"Because we heard it so many times already!"

"Tell us something else, Ramford," they begged.

Ramford took another sip and gave it a thought.

"Well, I do have a story I heard a long time ago from Stormfront."

"Whoah," the kids exclaimed. The scooted ever closer, eyes sparkling with interest.

"Sea beast..." one kid gasped.

"Yes and no, young one. It's a tale people who lives there tells their little ones. It was a night just like this, where kids gathered around their parents and being told stories to send them to sleep..."

Ramford paused and looked at the kids. They were tired and all sleepy, but one mention of a distant place sent them sitting upright and ears perked up. He continued.

"A long time ago the first people who landed on Eastland, this land, began to make it their new home. They did not know of Stormfront back then. It was not what it was named. What they did know was a land of dreams, of hope. A new beginning for humanity. They worked the new land, they built a new home for themselves, for you, for us. There was plenty of everything for everyone, enough to last multiple lifetimes. The new kingdom grew to the east. Until they stumbled across a towering mountain that stretched as far as they eyes could see," the shepherd drew his words and gestured toward the mountain standing tall on the horizon.

"Whiteveil," whispered the kids.

"They went far beyond the mountains, traveling for days, weeks, until they found another ocean on the other side, the far east of Eastland."

"Is this story about Fymar? I've heard this from Nanny," one kid complained.

Stolen novel; please report.

"No, young one. This is the story of the heroes of Stormfront who stopped evil unbeknownst to everyone else. This is not about everybody else who explored new land and found new treasures and thrives, this is the people of Stormfront who did not forget the force of evil who drove them away from their old home. They after all tried to chase the people on the sea, why would evil stop just because the people now lived in new land?"

The kids became scared. A few began to sob and whimper, avoiding looking at the shepherd.

"Fear not, young ones. I told you before, this is a story of heroes, warriors who guarded Eastland. Evil came from time to time and the warriors, bestowed with great powers, fended them all off..."

"Powers?" a kid asked.

"Magic, young ones. Powerful warriors of the old kingdom protected the first people in their journey and continued to do after reaching safety. Evil sent every nightmare you could think of. Sea beasts were nothing compared to these monsters for they flew in the sky and now bow could shoot arrows high enough to hit them, no swords long enough to reach them nor they sharp enough to pierce their skin. But the warriors of Stormfront stopped them nonetheless, because they had devoted all their lives to protect Eastland. They had great weapons that helped them slay monsters. The Great Bow of Earth shoots without an arrow, The Great Sword of Thunder pierces through mountains, The Great Shield of Sky returns enemy's attacks right back at them. When these warriors fought, they summoned the storm, and they were known as Stormfront."

"Whoah..." the kids muttered, jaws dropped. "I didn't know that..."

"Of course you won't. This is story told only in Stormfront," Ramford chuckled.

"Where did the warriors go, Ramford?"

"They didn't go anywhere, young ones. They are still out there fighting. They are in the storm in the west, keeping evil away from Eastland. When they win, that's when the sun shines on Stormfront."

Ramford chucked the last of his ale and ended his story. The kids were talking amongst themselves, discussing who shall be the warriors of Stormfront the next time they play fight. The old shepherd removed himself from the group and joined Deborah and the others surrounding her cauldron of soup which meat had been all picked off.

"They love your stories," Deborah said.

"When you're old like me and move a lot you will hear a lot of story."

"I never heard anything about warriors of Stormfront, and I been around Stormfront a lot," said an old farmer who used to be a traveling merchant.

Ramford chuckled and spun his empty glass in the air.

"When you hear enough stories you too can make one up really quickly," he chuckled.

Everybody burst into laughter, slapping hard into their thigh.

"Kids..." the muttered while shaking their heads, laughing.

"Still, thank you for keeping the kids entertained," Deborah said after calming down. She poured a bowl of soup and refilled Ramford's empty glass with ale.

The shepherd gave a shrug.

"I'm old, I cannot mill flour. The least I can do is keeping your children out of trouble."

"And that's a lot of help, Ramford. Thank you," she said, smiling. She poured another bowl and placed it on the ground for the shepherd's dog. "Here, Colt, soup for you too."

The wind began to die down and the men of the village were packing up the last of the night's fine flour. Flour dust followed their steps back to their home. They did not forget to lock the windmill down, but there was no worry for any wind strong enough to blow at it, at least until morning came. One by one the villagers abandoned the bonfire and Deborah poured the last bowl for storage. Ember dimmed and with it, Ramford too called for Colt to returned to their pen.

He rested his stick by the door and sat on the edge of his straw bed. Colt curled itself by his foot and slept with a full tummy. From the window Ramford could see outside his room. The village under a moonless night, stars reflected on the calm river, lights from between the cracks of wooden windows before their occupants extinguished the candles. Children's laughter before their parents shushed them and sang lullabies. It was quiet after the party, only the sound of crickets and ripples from the stream and wind bristling through the field under the black starry sky.

The old shepherd lied on his bed and soaked the silence. He fell asleep before he knew it.

***

He did not know how long he had fallen asleep, but Colt was barking furiously and when he woke up he found the dog was floating in the air as was he. The roof above him had fallen apart revealing a cloudy black sky that smelled of burning smoke. The sidewalls had tilted and the sheep were bleating from a distance, fleeing in panic. Ramford willed his stick to his hand and it flew out of the debris. He rose to the sky and from height saw the village in ruins. Buildings turned into piled up rubble, windmills caved in, fire broke out from several houses. Dusts were yet to settle but cries of pain echoed in the dark night.

A woman covered in dirt stumbled on a path, trembling as she tried to mutter a word and repeat only a word, "help... help..."

Ramford descended behind her and asked.

"Deborah! What happened?"

"R-ramford... h-help... There w-was a quake... and... my baby... the house... she's just sleeping... oh no...." she hugged the old shepherd and cried.

His face darkened. He looked around, witnessing crying children covered in blood and dust under the embrace of adults staring at their collapsed house. Weak whimper of pain and cry of help called from below the ruins as others frantically tried to clear the debris ignoring their own wounds. There were those who laid down on the ground unmoving, eyes never opening again, while their loved ones cried beside them, howling their sadness away.

A wave of magic burst out from deep within Ramford's chest, spreading a faint distortion of light that engulfed the entire village and proceeded to gather on all surviving souls. A gift of strength enabling the rescuers to lift debris heavier than their body normally allowed, and the rescued protection from further harm from sharp edges as they were pulled to safety.

"Let's go to your child," the old shepherd said as he led the poor woman back to her house with haste. It was burning, but with an ancient word slipping out under his breath the raging fire turned to dying embers instantly. Deborah slipped from his hold, her knees weak, crying out for her daughter, "Dania... Dania... my baby..."

Colt barked and dashed into the wreckage without Ramford having to order him. He sniffed around atop the rubble and disappeared into a small opening. The shepherd squeezed his fist and sent another wave of light into the rubble, making them much lighter than they were supposed to be, and soon enough Colt came out dragging a little girl with her arm in its mouth.

"OH! DANIA!!!" she screamed and stumbled to her daughter on all fours. Colt released the baby and licked where he bit. Only a faint mark was left due to Ramford's protection. She embraced her tightly in her arms, but the child was pale and unconscious. She wasn't answering her mother's call, but the kid and her mother would survive the night. Colt stayed beside the two, wrapping itself around Deborah's legs to give them warmth, licking its own wound from rushing into the wreckage.

Ramford turned around and stabbed his stick into the ground. He squeezed into his stick and his eyes glowed white. There had never been an earthquake in the last three hundred years anywhere on Eastland. The last one happened because of a volcanic eruption on the other side of Whiteveil, south of the east. It spewed a cloud of ash that burned everything on the mountainous region and the folks who lived there today still suffered from the aftermath.

This earthquake however was not caused by anything on the continent. In his vision Ramford saw devastation across Eastland, getting worse further north he saw, the source of which was far far north out in the sea, a crack on the sea floor, pillars of molten rock shooting out from the deep, burning the sea as they went. A swirling magma was pushing through the rocks, forming a bulge that caused more tremors, turning the sea vicious.

It erupted and sent the earth shaking, the explosion was heard even as far south as Linder. The old shepherd twisted his stick and erected a barrier of energy on the north sea. He was too far to form anything strong enough to stop the tremors and storm from destroying the northern shores, but at least the people would survive.

Shivers rose up his spine when the shepherd realized something remained in the air above the eruption. A force of evil so wicked flapping its wings in the ear and had decided its attention toward him.

"COLT!" he shouted for his dog. It barked and leapt toward the shepherd who had pulled his stick off the ground running north. With every step Colt grew in size, its fur turned white, face elongated, paws morphed into hooves, growing a mane that flew in the wind and began to neigh.

Ramford leapt in the middle of his run, a rein materialized out of nothing and his bottoms landed on a magnificent golden saddle. Lightning struck when he swung his stick and the shepherd was no more. Out of the white steam streaking through the land a white-haired knight in his prime riding a flying white horse emerged, sheathing a sword to his hip, blue eyes fixated in the distant north full of conviction, with thunderous roar advanced toward evil.